Sunshine's Lamentation
by EffervescentGrace
Summary: You are my sunshine, my only sunshine You make me happy when skies are grey You never know, dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away. It is ten thirty- three in the morning, and the sun has not yet risen.


_**Author's Note: I'm sorry about this. **_

Sunshine Lamentation

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
You make me happy when skies are grey  
You never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don't take my sunshine away_

It is ten thirty- three in the morning, and the sun has not yet risen.

You have noticed. The world has noticed. And you are glad. You smile a smile that is jagged like a broken shard of glass and you scratch at your wrist. You do not know why you have this itch, but it is there and so you scratch it.

* * *

It is the next morning, or it should be. The sun did not rise and still hasn't.

You feel a bitter sense of pleasure. You stare up at the ceiling, where there are cracks in the obsidian stone like spider webs. It has been a long time since you were home. You wish you weren't, but it is the only place to go. You scratch harder at that itch because it does not go away.

* * *

It has been three days since the sun has risen, according to most clocks.

People are panicking. People are dying. You are not. You're used to the cold, you are used to death. You're surprised it has taken this long for the alarm to surface; you are surprised they have been able to resist the cold for as long as they have. Your nails dig into your wrist as if that will stop the irritation.

* * *

It has been four days and the sun still hasn't risen.

You have not left the Underworld. You wonder idly if your friends are dead yet. Maybe. Probably. You wonder why you don't have the energy to care, then you remember and decide you should stop remembering, so you roll over and try to sleep, pressing your nails harshly into that itch.

* * *

It has been five days since the sun has risen.

You are called out of your room and leave reluctantly to visit the throne room. Your father expresses his concern in his way that is both gentle and curt and you just want to go back to your room, so you do whilst he is still speaking. You scratch at that itch again and this time crimson wells beneath your nails and you feel both a sting of victory and defeat.

* * *

It has been six days.

Today you visit him, though you told yourself you were not going to. He beams when he sees you, like he always does, even if he is washed out now and blurs slightly around the edges. You feel as if that itch is back, stronger than ever and you scratch at it ruthlessly. His smile dims, and then disappears and he tries to grasp your hand but it passes right through you. You feel as if you're choking, and you stumble back when you see the misty tears form in his eyes. Or maybe they're in your eyes. You can't tell.

* * *

A week.

The Underworld is swarmed, your father is haggard and you are back in your room. Persephone comes to see you. She tells you Apollo has been found and looks like Thanatos. You feel both terrible and happy at that thought. Apollo has lost many children in the past years; he should feel grief over at least one of them. Your wrist has stopped itching.

* * *

It is the next week and the sun is still gone and you don't care even a little bit.

He is crying in devastation and you are clutching him to you, because you can again. You can feel his hands against your back and his tears against your face. You smile and kiss him, joyous because you can again. You can again. And it feels so wonderful and it is making you shiver and you want to touch him some more. You are so confused at his sadness, so you kiss it away until his tears are nothing but soft hiccups against your collarbone. You fondly, gently run your fingers through his hair, and close your eyes because it is exactly how you remember. Downy and soft and pale like ducklings' feathers. He looks at you with miserable eyes and breaks into a watery smile and you beam back, the feeling tight and foreign on your face. You can do that again too.

* * *

It has been a month.

You know the world above has been destroyed and you wonder why Gaia had never thought about getting Apollo on her side, for everyone perishes without their sunlight. You know you would have, had you not been able to find yours again. You smile against his lips, which have given up being pulled into a downwards turn. He is smiling back against you and you feel warmth as his fingers ghost against your spine. You are happy, for the first time in a long time. Nothing could take your sunshine ever again.


End file.
